My first Comrades Marathon

The sound of excited jibber jabber amongst the runners and feet hitting the tarmac was accompanied with the sight of people along the road in their dressing gowns cheering us on with sleepy smiles. This was it. I was running the Comrades.

It’s 5:05am on a Sunday morning at City Hall in Durban, and I’m about to run what many consider the ultimate human race: 87km/54 miles of mainly uphill terrain in what was to be one of the hottest Comrades ever. Six months of training (in not so hot weather) and I was feeling all the associated emotions with any big race. Nervousness, excitement, anxiety, joy and down right fear. 87km? Eish! But what better motivation than 18,000 runners singing ‘Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika’ followed by ‘Shosholoza’? I’m yet to encounter one.

And so we were off. The sound of excited jibber jabber amongst the runners and feet hitting the tarmac was accompanied with the sight of people along the road in their dressing gowns cheering us on with sleepy smiles. This was it. I was running the Comrades. My first challenge: Fields Hill. With the prospect of seeing my parents in Hillcrest, it was one easily conquered. I cannot describe the pride I felt seeing my parents standing in the spot I used to stand with my sisters when we were out watching the runners. How exciting to be on the other side!

That emotional boost was needed as Botha’s Hill was looming. And in 30 degree heat with no trees to shade you, it was a harsh realisation of what lay ahead. But with such a vibe and such incredible volunteers it was hard to stay negative for long, so before I knew it I had passed Arthur’s Seat (and delivered my rose) and was dancing across the half way point. Trust me when I say nobody can cheer like a black woman! Up and up we climbed until we hit Inchanga where things started to get a bit tougher. The crowds had thinned and the wind had picked up creating a fog of dust to run through with the ever present thought of: â€œThere’s still a bloody long way to go!”

Just one more beast of a hill to get through though — Polly Shorts. With around 70km already done it’s no easy task but I somehow manage to drag (literally in some cases) myself up there. Someone had said to me earlier that after Polly Shorts there were no more hills left. They lied. I cried. Yet my legs were still feeling strong enough to get me across that finish line and enjoy the cheer from the crowd in the process. And yes; I will be back in 2015!